


A Slip in Time

by Merfilly



Series: Slip In Time Pern AU [1]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Multi, Paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One cold morning in Ruatha, a child dies, and history resets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slip in Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllieMurasaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/gifts).



> Please note, this is only using the time paradox of _Dragonflight_. Subsequent revelations of events being caused by other timing accidents has been merrily discarded.

The screaming of the watchwher in the distance was cut short as a lance finally thrust into the kennel. Not ten paces from the kennel, a small girl child fled blindly, watched in horror by a gleaming gold speck and its rider in the dawn sky. The child turned as a man with a huntsman's axe neared, warned by the distant version of herself... just in time for the soldier to strike.

Above, the golden dragon and its rider vanished as if they had never been, and then the world melted into a new one.

`~`~`~`~`

"Is there nothing you can do, R'mel?"

The bronze rider looked at the deputation of Holders and Crafters alike with a weary eye and saddened features. "The Weyrs are as autonomous as the Holds and Crafts alike. I have raised objections with them time and again, but I cannot oust a leadership in a Weyr any more than you lot are able to oust your own leaders. It takes a consensus, as outlined in the Records, of at least four of the six Weyrs."

"And with three Weyrs fallen to the ways that they have, that leaves you one shy of the consensus." Lord Parthan of Bitra shook his head with a sigh. "Thread is gone, man, and these pilfering ways must stop."

R'mel nodded in understanding. "The stones were clear, this is true, but we must keep the Weyrs vigilant, in case there was a misreading."

"Thread comes every two hundred turns, and two hundred turns it has been!" Master Damel of the farm craft declared. "Dragonriders have become useless and outdated, I say!"

"Please, Master Damel!" R'mel entreated. "I will do all I can to ease the burdens placed on your crafts and holds, but Record fragments support that unusual shifts have been known!"

"Propaganda! Lies!"

The deputation broke into chaos at that, and R'mel was of half a mind to send them away from Telgar's Weyr, but he feared the violence in these men. Thankfully, Parthan and Gissel of Lemos were well-respected and took to their feet.

"It is clear that the Weyr's hands are tied. We will discuss this at Turn's End conclave once more, and then we shall take definitive action. R'mel, at least you listen, as does our own Weyrleader at Benden. I warn you now, we are through with the excesses of those who feel they are above Duty, when no Duty has dawned on the Eastern sky." Gissel bowed his head once and swept out, leading to the rest following out and to the waiting blues and greens on conveyance duty for this meeting.

"What are we to do, Zoriya?" R'mel asked as his Weyrwoman came to him. "We have no land to feed ourselves from, should the tithe stop, yet... they are correct. No Thread came, and we have no duty to perform."

"You yourself said it. The failure of Thread to come is but a temporary grace." She slid into his lap, leaning into his shoulder. "We must find a way to make our peers see that they cannot be so arrogant, or take it on ourselves to preserve the ways of the weyrs until Thread comes once more."

R'mel held her close, his eyes sliding shut in weariness at this entire situation. "I will send for M'kal, D'ran, and S'del. Between us, perhaps we can find a way." Benden and Ista were solid allies, but sending for S'del would be risky, as Igen often followed Fort and High Reaches in conclaves.

"No, not S'del. Let us talk to M'kal and D'ran alone." Zoriya pulled back to look into her mate's face, and he saw an uncanny knowledge in her eyes. "Whatever we do, there will be riders disaffected at the other weyrs. With no Thread, we will be able to invite them into our fold without risk to those left behind."

"You believe we will not find a peaceful way, don't you?"

Zoriya did not answer, rising from his lap to go and get klah, wine, and other refreshments, leaving R'mel to wonder.

`~`~`~`~`

D'ran and M'kal listened to their fellow leader, nodding at the salient points, frowning when R'mel told of the members of the delagation who had seemed the most violent. Violence had never been a common thing on Pern, not in more than one-on-one altercations often prompted by too much wine or ale. 

"We cannot leave Pern to fall to Thread," D'ran said firmly.

"But the people are rejecting us," M'kel said, watching the other leaders. "The hostility has been growing, as the other Weyrs poach outside their traditional territories."

"I know. I've had the Smith here a few times," R'mel told him. "My thought is that we have to find an alternative, before it comes to the clash I and Zoriya both think is imminent. Turn's End is not far off, and the Lord Holders are as fed up as the Crafters."

"You already have a thought as to what we should do," M'kel accused, setting D'ran into a fit of laughter.

"M'kel, if it is not Benden, it is always Telgar that finds a plan!" D'ran told him while R'mel just shook his head.

"I feel desperate times mean desperate measures." R'mel unfurled a map of Pern, with the coast of Southern inked out and both sets of barrier islands marked with where convicted men had been sent in the past. "We have long been told that Southern is hostile to man and dragon, that it should be left alone. Yet, there are many islands to the East and to the West... islands where green things do grow and life can be sustained."

"You don't mean..." M'kel gasped, catching the flicker of the idea.

R'mel nodded sadly. "We cannot expect the Holds to support us through another two hundred Turns with no Thread, yet we three believe that Thread will resume its deadly cycle on time for the next pass. I say we remove ourselves, our people, and as many of those that we can lure from the other three as we can."

"But what of those left behind?" D'ran asked, needing it spelled out so they could weigh the full burden of the choice.

"We leave them to their own devices. How long will the pilfering continue if the Holds turn violent, and a dragon dies because of its rider's taking ways?" R'mel asked. "It is harsh, I know! But we have talked until talking is just not acceptable any longer! We go... and if they will mend their ways, we accept them into our new lands. The Weyrs will empty, and in time, Thread will find us still strong and ready to resume the traditional ways!"

"It takes many to prove lands, pull harvests..." D'ran said, being of holding blood.

"And Igen has caves full of those with no lands of their own. We plan, we prep, and we invite those who have no hold to join us," R'mel suggested.

"Leaving the continent to bear its own burden, until Thread has them clamoring for our return," M'kel finished for him. "It is a better plan than doing nothing, and having our own riders at risk, just for wearing rider colors."

"Zoriya helped you find this plan?" D'ran asked.

R'mel nodded. "She and I have talked it out, along with those of my wingleaders I felt were best able to keep the silence of it."

"That will be a wise course to follow, and no, I don't think we should approach any of the other Weyrs. Let them seek us instead," D'ran cautioned.

"And we shall be vigilant. Any who come will be subject to our queens, for we will not have thieves hiding among us," M'kel said firmly.

"I am in complete agreement," R'mel told him.

`~`~`~`~`

Telgar, Benden, and Ista Weyrs all completed their move in silence, presenting a weary face to those Lords and Crafter who came to complain in the sevendays leading to Turn's End. On the day of the Grand Conclave, all six Weyrs had riders present, but the perceptive noted there wasn't a shoulder knot below bronze to be seen from the three Weyrs who had not been accused alongside their avaricious compatriots.

In deference to the preservation of dragonkind, R'mel and D'ran were able to persuade their peers that such a bright day should see their meeting held out in the air, and they opted to take to the fireheights. Already those edifices were showing creeping green as the past Turn had seen no Thread to encourage vigilance.

"Why an open air meeting?" S'del asked, not certain of this at all, but then he was easily swayed by the passing moods of his fellow riders.

"I fear violence, my fellow Leaders," R'mel said with a heavy heart, knowing they would never listen. "Zoriya?"

"The mood of the Holds and Crafts is quite sour, Weyrwomen and Leaders." The small but effective queen rider looked at the face of each in turn, and knew she had advised R'mel correctly. "Thread-fighting is our call, and recovery when the Pass ends, then the nurture and care of the dragons as it comes to time for Pass once more. Yet we have no Pass, and still there are some who think the Holds nor the Crafts give enough."

"The paltry tithe..." G'rint began, but R'mel stepped ahead of his lady, not liking the aggressive leaning of Fort's leader.

"You call it paltry, but we have taken to giving our excess back to the Holds," R'mel said firmly. "I tell each and every one of you now that the Holds have had enough. Any of you who go among the crowds once they have held their conclave are fools. For violence is quick and easy when tempers are high and dragons are none too close at hand!"

"You jump at shadows, Telgar!" T'ril growled, taking G'rint's side, as he had expected.

"So I may," R'mel said. "I have said what I came to say." He offered his arm to Zoriya to leave the meeting, their dragons stepping forward from where they had waited. M'kel and D'ran, with neither speaking to their peers, took their own ladies away, leaving S'del as the lone voice speaking.

"That's it?"

As those three pairs of leaders took to the air, the few bronze riders who had come from their weyrs took leave of their friends and joined them, so that only High Reaches, Fort, and Igen remained.

Scarcely had each Weyr begun their final preparations for R'mel's plan than their dragons stopped and keened the death of a blue, his rider bludgeoned at a Turn's End celebration by a crowd at a crafter's stall for trying to extort a knife without paying at all.

 _We warned them,_ R'mel's Nadith told him, trying to reassure his rider.

_So we did. Let us hurry with this task, so we can go on ahead._

`~`~`~`~`

The tithe was not sent, but eventually riders from holds that had been faithful and known their Weyrs to be free of culpability in the thefts, abductions, and other unsavory business made their ways up to the three quiet calderas, curious as to why neither message signals had been answered nor dragons seen in many sevendays.

Each was turned back, as they found the entrances to the Weyrs blockaded by walls of bagged blackrock and firestone, as well as slabs of regular rock. No dragon was seen or heard, and the Three became something of a mysterious legend, while the remaining Weyrs were dealt with. Flaming dragons set against the population did nothing but make the Holds more stubbornly determined to find a way to throw off the yoke of their oppressors.

Perhaps because the Pass had failed to come, or perhaps as a sign of how badly the riders had warped their dragons, clutches became fewer and smaller in number during the Interval of War that descended upon Pern. 

On the islands, to the East and West, dragonkind flourished in careful numbers, working alongside their riders and those who had come as holders, crafters, and potential candidates for the Weyrs. Records were painstakingly kept, and bloodlines often mingled from each of the islands that boasted a queen and her mate, so that dragonkind would be ready when Pass came again.

In a short fifty years, the same time that would have seen Thread gone again, there were no more dragons upon the mainland, for the Holders and Crafters alike had learned the art of killing a dragonrider through any means necessary in order to survive the threat of poaching and dragonfire both.

`~`~`~`~`

_Many, Many Turns later_

The riders had been sent on the shortest night of the year as soon as the Red Star had grown noticeable in the Eastern sky. Six riders, teleporting directly into the calderas of each Weyr, a picture that had been painstakingly updated by discreet visits once every couple of decades. Each Turn, the Red Star came closer and closer, until the long awaited Turn when the Star was bracketed at the precise moment foretold by the Records the weyrs had kept.

Charts of Threadfall had been worked out, well in advance of the day, for the return of the ancient nemesis. When the dragonmen were confident they had planned in accordance with their ancestors' wishes, the various queen riders and their mates gathered on the largest island to determine how the move would be handled.

None too surprisingly, it was F'lon, many generations descended from M'kel, who took the lead at that meeting, for he had been a strong presence in keeping dragon readiness at its top-most point. His Weyrwoman Larna was considered a more quiet voice than some of those who rode gold, but she had intelligence and will to back her chosen mate's plans.

"We've thirteen golds mature and laying eggs as we stand now, and one more who should rise come the spring," F'lon sketched out for his compatriots. "We can field fifty wings of fighting dragons, fully agile and able to flame. We can number our reserves at nearly four hundred, mixed between weyrlings and those too gray in the muzzle to chew stone properly." He looked around at his fellow leaders, wished his sons could be here now, but this was a time for the paired leaders. "Neither Benden nor High Reaches is easily seen from the nearest Holds to them. I suggest we set camps there to watch for the first Fall, since both are in the early path depending on weather. One wing apiece, rotated on a regular schedule until that first Fall hits. Same rules as always; don't be seen!"

"And after the Fall, when we prove to the Mainlanders we still exist?" K'ren asked.

"That's when we, the thirteen current Leaders, face the Lord of whichever Hold the Fall came over," Malloree, the eldest of the queen riders, told him.

"We will not abandon our isles, no?" Keana asked.

"Larna?" F'lon indicated his mate should take over from there.

"I propose that we take the traditional Six Weyrs back, once we have the Holders and Crafters concede that they need us. We consolidate each set of islands, giving us a total of eight. The islands will receive one queen by lot for each chain, and the remaining eleven will be divided, again by lot, to the six Weyrs. The first queen mature from the young ones will go to the Weyr with only one queen, and after that, it falls to the standard population drive and trade, as we always have done."

"A sound plan," Malloree agreed. "I take it the wings go by lot as well? And first of the queens to rise at any given Weyr becomes senior?"

"That is the time-honored tradition," N'gel said, approving the plan. "The islands remain ours to fall back to in Interval, our people remain safe, and we will be evenly spread across the Mainland for the Pass."

"What of Southern?" M'gan questioned.

F'lon shrugged his shoulders. "Every attempt our people have made to explore it has brought back disease or injuries from those giant felines. I say we wait and secure our place on the Mainland before we seek to expand further."

"Agreed!" The Leaders and the Weyrwomen were in accord, having long worked at making this come to be.

"And if the Mainland doesn't wish us on their continent?" R'van asked, just to get the response.

"Dragonmen must fly/ when Thread is in the sky!" they roared.

`~`~`~`~`

F'lar looked over his wing, the son of his father at his side, just as he should be. 

_He could lead, too._

_I know, Mnementh. He was offered the wing that K'nel stepped down from leading, but stayed with me. He's my best second._

F'lar's quiet pride in F'nor assuaged his dragon's protests, as it extended to the giant brown F'nor rode as well. Canth was the largest of his color, even as Mnementh was the largest of the bronzes. By all rights, F'lar could have had a queen any time in the last ten years, but he, like F'nor, curtailed their dragonlusts to the greens that were plentiful. If Canth were to ever choose to fly for a queen, as browns sometimes did, F'lar felt his brother's dragon would outfly every bronze on Pern, save Mnementh.

"The wing is ready, bronze rider," F'nor said. "Do you think it will be today?"

"The northerly arm may turn to crack dust, but the southern part of it is over more tropical areas." F'lar looked at the baleful Red Star. "F'lon said that at the first sight of viable Thread, we call the full strength."

"A good show, as the holders and crafters seem to have no idea the Pass is upon us," F'nor said, approving. "You have a preference yet for which Weyr we go to?"

"I'd like to see us back to Benden, son of my father. Our bloodline is M'kel's, and that was his Weyr." F'lar saw his half-brother nod, and knew the same desire was in F'nor's heart. While Larna was always F'lon's mate of heart and soul, F'lar was just as pleased that Manora had caught his eye and given F'lon a son as well. Larna had nearly died bearing F'lar, so he had no other siblings.

"And F'lon's decision to not fly in the mating flight for leadership? How does that strike you?"

"I think he is correct. He is not young, and it should be the young who lead us forward into our new ascendancy." F'lar clasped F'nor's shoulder. "No matter where, you will be with me?"

F'nor covered F'lar's shoulder with his own hand. "Of course, my wingleader. Of course."

"To your dragon then! We chew, for Fall begins soon, and we must fly high to see without being seen!"

`~`~`~`~`

Lord Vincet, as was his wont, had been prowling his prized orchards when crews that had been working higher in the canopy began calling out in panic about a strange storm on the horizon. It was coming in across the water of the bay, and he could hear the harbor bell ringing in the distance.

"My Lord," a messenger gasped, sweating despite the slight chill of the air, as the winter had been unpredictably cold so far. "The rain that falls over the bay... it is no natural storm!"

"Nonsense." Vincet strode to his waiting runnerbeast, intent on seeing for himself. He rode in that direction and had just cleared the treeline when the sky erupted in thousands of colorful wings, staggered in layers as tall as the skies themselves, it seemed. Dragons! Vincet had heard of them, heard of the ancient scourge they had fought, but they had been dead and gone for two hundred turns! More turns than that had passed since the ancient menace had been seen. Yet as foolish as some accused Vincet of being, he could see for himself as the flying beasts engaged the storm wall with fire.

"By the Egg," he swore, and never had the oath felt more appropriate than as he watched the oncoming battle between the voracious organisms and Pern's defenders. He swallowed dryly against his sudden thought of all those long-dead legends, and what they had said about Thread in greenery. He looked back at his orchards, and out to the dragons wheeling, diving, soaring with a new sense of all the old stories. "Fly well," he breathed softly. "Men! Get to the stone sheds! We will search the orchards after, and hope that the dragons save all our work!"

With one last look at the efforts of those battling the Thread, Vincet spurred his beast back to take refuge with his people.

`~`~`~`~`

F'lon and Larna stood at the forefront of the twenty-six gold and bronze riders that currently were named Leaders by the flights. Malloree and her mate, G'ver were to his right, while Keana and J'sef were to his left. Their dragons had ranged along the shoreline, careful of the boats that had been put on the sands, and the piers reaching out to the larger vessels.

"Nerat is safe?" Lord Vincet asked as he hastily approached on foot; his runnerbeast had turned quite skittish on his attempt to ride out. The pungent aroma of firestone and char mingled in the air.

"Yes, it is. Dragonriders have done their duty, though if you have woodsmen to spare, eyes on the ground would be appreciated," F'lon said firmly. "We have our wings combing for any sign of a missed Thread, but the reports are negative so far."

"Thank you!" Vincet brought himself up just in range of a courteous greeting, bowing to the women who looked so odd to his indolent sensibilities, wearing the same cut of wherhide as the men. "My manners... I am Lord Vincet of Nerat, and you have saved my hold great tragedy today. The winter has tried hard to blight our trees already, with us expecting the warming any time now for them to start the year off right!"

F'lon inclined his head gravely. "Wingleader F'lon, rider of bronze Simanith. Weyrwoman Larna, rider of gold Tallorth." He continued on with the rest of the introductions, confining it to the two pairs on either side of him. Their three sets were considered by one and all the descendents and heirs of the legacy left by R'mel, D'ran, and M'kal.

"Thread was supposed to be gone," Vincet said with a heavy sigh. "We've been told for generations that this was so, and that the dragons were no more!"

Larna nodded. "There was a Long Interval, but many believed Thread was gone. Our ancestors provided a means to preserve the dragons in the face of troubles in those times."

"As Turn's End has come and gone, but Thread is here to stay for its Pass, we have need to ask of you messengers to go with our riders, if you would," Malloree said firmly. "To warn each of the holds and crafts when to expect Thread."

"But I could not possibly risk my men in some of those holds you speak of!" Vincet said in horror at the thought. He then saw the confusion on the faces of the riders, and flushed. "Forgive me, but... wherever you have been, it has left you in ignorance of how Pern is shaped."

"F'lon, F'lar's Mnementh is reporting all clear," Larna said. "Send the wings to the Weyr or home?"

"Home." F'lon looked at Vincet with interest. "Lord Holder Vincet, does your Hold have space for the six of us, so my fellow leaders can return to see to our injured, and you can begin to educate us?" He phrased it as a request, but Vincet saw a steel in those eyes that suggested Pern's troubles might soon be severely curtailed.

He wished to be on the right side of that, and under Threaded skies, that meant on the side of dragons.

"Of course," he said warmly in reply.

`~`~`~`~`

The dragonriders settled on the largest of the islands in the eastern range, dragons dotting the coastline, floating offshore, or taking perches on the rises of the moderate hills. It was a common meeting point when their entire voice needed to be taken into account, delivered through the mouths of the wingleaders.

"Lord Holder Vincet has told us much of value. The lands that were once loyal to our three Weyrs have remained fairly stable and in the hands of their rightful bloodlines. Some of those that were under the other three Weyrs were not so fortunate, and fell prey to raids, assassinations, and outright war in the aftermath of the slaughter of our kinsmen," F'lon told the assembled riders, his voice carrying strongly over the crowd.

"He will provide messengers to those Holds and Halls he trusts as safe, but for the rest, we will have a harder go of reasserting our territories," Malloree added. "We feel the best approach to this is that a gold and a blue be our delegates in each case, as blues gauge people very well, and a queen is the ancient symbol of power in our own culture."

"We want volunteers, thirteen blues, to go with each of our queens," Larna said in turn. "The messenger will ride with the blue, who will be stoked with firestone, in case of danger to the riders or the envoy!"

"We will take no chances," Keana said. "Pern must have her dragons, but until Thread has fallen over all the Holds and Halls, some may be reluctant to believe, Lord Vincet has warned us."

"And what of our plan to settle the Weyrs again?" N'gel asked. "Will we still draw?"

"Yes," G'ver told him. "We will do that now, but until it is safe to take possession of the Weyrs in unstable territory, those who draw that Weyr will double up at one of the others. Igen's riders at Ista, Fort's with Benden, and High Reaches at Telgar. I know that's a bit of a reach for both western Weyrs, and it will crowd us and our dragons, but it is temporary. Fort will probably be safe to move to first, as the Hold itself is held firmly by the original bloodline still, and shelters both the Healers and Harpers yet!"

"The doubling works in our favor anyway," J'sef said. "As both Weyrs will stay combined to meet Fall with overwhelming strength until we are all proficient, and the most senior weyrlings are mature enough to join their new wings."

"How will that be decided?" M'gan asked. "As it has been in the past?"

"Yes." Jallova spoke up now. "Malloree told me to continue to assign them by lot, though some adjustments may occur, if any wings take heavier injuries than we saw in the First Fall," the queen rider in charge of the weyrlings told them.

"Any further questions?" F'lon asked of the crowd. When no one spoke up, he indicated G'ver could begin letting the queen riders draw their lots, while F'nor took a larger basket of stones with the ancient Weyr symbols around to all but the mated bronze riders of the fifty wingleaders.

By day's end, the dragonriders of Pern would know their new homes, and begin the process of reclaiming their place in Pernese traditions.

`~`~`~`~`

Lord Larad met the delegation of Keana, C'pel, and their dragons, plus Vincet's own Warder outside the new Hold that was still in the process of being finished. While Larad was stunned by the appearance of dragons, he did not want to hear the tale they brought.

"Thread is gone!"

"We said that of dragons, Lord Larad!" the Warder, a man named Kimper, said. "Please believe me; Lord Vincet himself was in one of the groves directly threatened by the Fall!"

The Telgar Lord shook his head. "Vincet is a fool and easily manipulated," he informed the Warder, whose hand instinctively reached toward his belt knife before remembering that Larad was of a higher station in life.

"Lord Larad of Telgar, you have been duly informed of the threat. When Fall comes in a few days, as we have told you, perhaps then you will believe," Keana stated. "The Weyr will perform its duty, no matter what, for innocent people should not suffer due to your hubristic notions of how the world works." She turned her back on him, repaying the insult given to the messenger with her own visible contempt.

C'pel watched Larad's hand flex toward his own knife, and wondered just how Pern had survived this long if tempers were so short. That Larad stopped himself was the only reason he did not give Bogath leave to flame the man where he stood. The blue rider stoically mounted as his queen did, reaching a hand down to Kimper.

"Come, man. I'll have you safe home," he told the Warder kindly. If Threadfall was to be the only way to make the Holders see, then so be it.

"The Smiths first," Keana called, making certain Larad heard. If the Halls would support the Weyrs, there was a solid chance the Holds would capitulate. They did not actually need Larad to come around yet; Telgar Weyr was being cleaned and cleared as the meetings happened, having been left empty and undisturbed. According to Vincet, the sudden disappearance of the three Weyrs had been explained as madness, illness, or war among the dragons themselves, and no one had wanted to try and push into them.

It was not a far journey to the Smith Hall even by straight flight. The dragonriders were all having to relearn Pern, as the sketches from their ancestors needed severe updating. Only the Weyrs were unchanged, save by encroaching greenery.

Maylath did not make Bogath stretch his wings too much, and soon the pair were wheeling down to the broad courtyard... stone and not a trace of green... outside the Hall. C'pel watched as one smith, working on a project, took off at a run inside the massive Hall doors at the sight of two dragons landing. The blue rider helped his passenger down, then slid off himself to go over to Keana. She was grateful to him, busily unstrapping the agenothree tanks and flame thrower she had brought to discuss with the Master Smith.

Out of the hall came the largest man C'pel had ever seen. Bogath listened, and then reported to his rider. _They are curious, the big man and those waiting at the door._

 _But not hostile, at least._ That reassured C'pel greatly.

"Master Smith Fandarel!" Kimper called. "I bring greetings from Lord Vincet and news."

"Kimper, you are welcome here... and our guests of very large and surprising nature?" Fandarel studied the beasts, then their riders.

"Master Smith Fandarel, please meet Weyrwoman Keana and blue rider C'pel. Maylath is the queen, and Bogath is the blue at her side," Kimper said formally. "Thread, the ancient menace, has returned over Nerat, and will next fall on Telgar's lands," he added.

Fandarel scratched at his head, then looked up at the Red Star, still faintly visible despite the bright day. "Then it is good there are still dragons." He looked at the contraption being held between the two riders. "What is this, my lady?"

Keana, seeing a complete acceptance of Kimper's message in his words, smiled. "Lord Vincet did not have any, and now your curiosity leads me to believe that the Mainland has smelted down all of their flamethrowers for the metal. For that is what this is. It is for the queens' wings, ground crews, and those riders who can work Fall but their dragons are too injured to go."

Fandarel's eyes lit with the joy of a child with a new puzzle. "Truly... then we shall need these soon, yes? Please, come inside, and let me see this flamethrower. Perhaps the design is somewhere in our records, but... a working model is even better."

He started guiding them in, and C'pel had hope that maybe the reintegration would proceed more like this than as it had been with Larad.

`~`~`~`~`

F'lon looked at his fellow riders, knowing Thread would soon fall, and all the dragonriders of Pern would meet it. They had not solved the issue of taking back all their Weyrs, establishing supply lines, or the like, but those were merely details. Details, he amended, best left to younger minds like F'lar and his generation.

For now, there was Fall, and there needed be nothing but Duty.

 

_...to be continued, perhaps?_


End file.
